Chapter 1: Sex is Power

"Men are fools, Isabella. They think they're the ones pulling the strings, but in reality, they are nothing but puppets."

The conference room was a grand, imposing space, designed to reflect the power and authority of the Montesoran government. Its walls were adorned with large, dark wood panels, rich with the deep mahogany hues that gleamed under the soft lighting. The air was cool, a sharp contrast to the stifling heat that always lingered outside, but the space still felt heavy with an almost palpable tension.

At the center of the room stood a finely detailed, oval table made of polished dark oak, its surface gleaming in the soft overhead light. The table was vast, able to accommodate eight people, but today it felt strangely empty despite the gathered Cabinet members. The chairs around it were large and well-crafted, upholstered in dark leather that had been worn smooth by years of use, their backs tall and commanding, much like the people who occupied them.

Above the table, a grand chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystal droplets catching the light and scattering it across the room in delicate rainbows. Yet, despite its elegance, the chandelier’s glow only seemed to add to the solemnity of the room, casting long shadows across the walls and floor. The only other source of light came from the tall windows on one side of the room, which offered a glimpse of the manicured gardens outside. However, the view was almost always obscured by the dark drapes, pulled tight to keep the outside world at bay, as though to maintain the fortress-like atmosphere within.

The floor was made of smooth marble, white with veins of grey that snaked across it like rivers. The coldness of the stone underfoot added to the chill of the room, making everything feel more distant and formal. Along the walls, several pieces of art—carefully curated portraits of Presidente Julián and his family, with a younger Isabella smiling down at herelf from the opposite side of the room, and landscapes of Montesoro’s rugged beauty—hung in large, ornate frames. In the far corner, a large cabinet held an array of objects—crystal decanters filled with liquor, silver trays, and expensive glassware, though no one ever seemed to use them. They were simply part of the decor, symbols of wealth and excess, meant to impress rather than serve.

"Presidente Reyes, the Cabinet welcomes you," said a bald man, dressed in a plain suit that was nevertheless tailored to perfection.

He stood at the far end of the table, opposite her father's vacant seat.

"We offer our sincerest condolences, and we are here to support you in this difficult time," the man continued, his voice smooth and unctuous, like honeyed wine. "We understand that this is a moment of great sorrow and uncertainty for you, and we want you to know that we are here to assist you in any way we can."

Isabella swallowed hard. The words sounded genuine enough, but she couldn't help feeling as though there was something else lurking beneath the surface, something darker and more sinister. Her... encounter with General Serrano had put her on edge, and she knew that those in the room would not hesitate to use her youth and inexperience against her if given the chance.

Isabella moved towards her father's empty chair, now hers. She hesitated. She had played in the room before, even sat on her father's lap as he held his cabinet meetings, but never had she taken a seat in the chair by herself. Was it always so big? So imposing? So.... dangerous?

"Thank you, Secretary Romero," she said, her voice low and steady, as though she were reading a speech from a piece of paper. "Your support is appreciated, and I expect to rely on you as I pick up the reins of leadership."

Romero bowed his head, and Isabella noted that he appeared more like a vulture waiting to pick at a carcass than a man of power. She knew him well. He had spent a lifetime climbing the rungs of Montesoro's political ladder, and he had no intention of backing down now.

She could feel the eyes of the Cabinet boring into her, and she took a deep breath before lowering herself into the seat. She felt her heart thumping in her chest, and for a moment, she was afraid the entire room would hear it. She swallowed hard, and then, in a voice barely above a whisper, said, "Please be seated."

The room erupted in the sounds of shuffling chairs as the cabinet members followed her orders.

Eduardo Valdés, the Minister of the Interior, sat on her immediate right. His expression was unreadable, his gaze locked on Isabella as she entered, calculating every movement. He was a man of power, with a cold, composed air about him. Isabella had heard stories about him, about how he created and directed the secret police that terrorized Montesoro for much of her father's reign. About how dissidents had the habit of "disappearing", and how the crocodiles in the swamplands of outskirt Valverde had swelled in numbers unnaturally since he was appointed. It is a popular joke that the crocodiles in Montesoro were better fed than its people, but always in hushed voices, and never near Eduardo, of course.

Beside him sat the usually jovial Carlos Silva, the young and sharp-looking Minister of Finance. A scion of the Silva family which operated in the gold and gas industries, he was well known as a socialite and playboy. While he was not known for his brilliance, he was well liked by the oligarchs, and served largely as a direct line between the government and the country's economic elites. Isabella had fended off several attempts to court her from him, and though he never seemed offended by her refusals, the way he was looking at her now sent shivers down her spine.

Furthest right sat María Ortega, Minister of Propaganda and Communications. The ministry was responsible for maintaining her father’s cult of personality, media outlets, and education. María ensured that state-approved messages dominate public discourse, while dissenting views are censored. As the only other woman in the room, Isabella looked into her eyes, hoping for a kindred spirit, but her eyes were cold and her smile ****.

To Isabella's left sat General Serrano, sitting in the chair of Minister of Defense. Isabella's face must have betrayed her puzzlement, as Serrano gestured that he will make his report once the meeting began.

Next to him was Minister of Foreign Affairs Sato Nakamura, her uncle and perhaps the only friendly face in the room. He shot her a kind smile, one that made her heart skip a beat, and her body relax just a little bit. She recognized the resemblance to her mother in his features, the same kind eyes, and a warmth that had always comforted her. He was not her favorite relative, but she was grateful to have someone here that could support her.

Next to her uncle sat Alberto Fuentes, the Minister of Labor and Resources, a stout and ugly man who was often called el cabrón by his colleagues. She had never understood why, until now. As she glanced his way, he raised his eyebrows at her and leered. Isabella suppressed a shudder. He had began life the son of a simple laborer, digging up the valuable minerals of the island. Rising to the head of the worker's union, he was part of the leadership that led a revolt against the previous government that allowed Isabella's father to take advantage of the chaos and assume power. It was only after the coup that the workers discovered Alberto had betrayed their cause, following Julián Reyes orders in exchange for a seat on his cabinet.

Last but not least, General Secretary Alejandro Romero sat at the foot of the table, second in command to her father. He was a physically imposing man, standing at over 6 foot tall in his youth, but old age has robbed him of his hair and hobbled his gait. He had a hawkish nose and sunken eyes - piercing, black, and sharp as a blade, they seem to miss nothing. The only member of the former government in the cabinet, Romero was one of the few figures who was not only spared after the coup but also elevated. He played a key role in orchestrating the post-coup consolidation of power, ensuring that dissent was swiftly and decisively crushed. His ability to read people, his control over the political apparatus, and his connections to Montesoro's elite ensured that he remained in power.

He now cleared his throat, and all eyes turned to him. He rose, slowly and deliberately, and bowed to Isabella.